The Room of Requirement
by prettypilipala
Summary: Neville takes a late night stroll to his favourite place in Hogwarts. Written for a challenge.


_Written for the 'Me, Myself and I' challenge on FictionNET. The challenge was:_

_**Taking ONE HP character (your choice; no OCs), write what they find when they enter the Room of Requirement.** _

_My choice was Neville, who is obviously owned by JK along with the rest of the HP world. Read on! (and then go to my profile and join FictionNET. Say euterpe sent you. :))_

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The corridors of Hogwarts were far more eerie at night, lit only by the soft luminescence of wandering ghosts and the _lumos_ of a patrolling Professor. Gentle snores from the portraits drifted down the stairwells, creating a low humming sound. It was _beyond_ creepy, Neville decided, pulling his striped dressing gown as tightly around himself as he could manage.

He didn't quite know why he was going back again. Mrs Norris had seen him the last time and he'd had to hide from Filch inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom for an hour, too afraid to leave until he was certain Mrs Norris had gone. Thankfully, Myrtle had been sobbing in a U-bend, and he hadn't had to put up with her. Moaning Myrtle scared him; but then, quite a lot of things scared him.

_This_ didn't, though. Instead of being scared, he was almost excited. Neville inched his way through the corridors and up the stairs, even missing the trick steps for once. His wand was held tightly to his side, only illuminating a small part of the floor for him, just enough to see where he was going.

It was a left here, he remembered, his feet, clad in fluffy slippers, walking the familiar path without any directions from his brain. And then a right, and then another set of stairs, and then-

-safety. He plodded on, finding a peace in the empty corridors that he could never have by day. But then, he didn't have to worry about a Slytherin trying to trip him up, or push him over, or hex him, or make fun of him- well, he didn't have to worry about Slytherins doing anything, and that was that. In these corridors; or on this stairwell, rather, he wasn't Neville Longbottom, Semi-Squib and target for the rest of the school. He was just plain old Neville, a wizard with nothing to be afraid of.

Except for Filch… or McGonagall, or any of the other Professors that might catch him. But he had less to be afraid of than by day, and that was good.

Turn right at the top of the stairwell, he recalled, and then down the corridor all the way. He smiled eagerly, counting the doors. It was foolish to be coming back again, he'd heard from Harry about the Mirror of Erised and how addictive it was and really, this was exactly the same thing; but just as Harry had gone back to the Mirror, so would he return to this room.

At first, he'd only ever been in there with the DA. _Then_ it was a large room, perfectly suited to their uses every time, and he'd never wondered how Harry had found such an ideal room until he'd forgotten his wand one day, and had found his way back.

And then he'd realised the secret of the room, though it had scared him so much that he'd grabbed his wand, placed neatly on the small table, and ran away the first time.

The second time, he'd stayed for hours.

Neville's hand reached for the doorknob of the Room of Requirement, and smiled. Now, whenever he needed somewhere safe to sit and study, to sit and just _exist_ without any worries, it was here for him. He opened the door and slipped inside, already knowing what he would see.

To an outsider it was a strange choice for the Room of Requirement. It seemed almost like a ward at St Mungo's; white and pristine, nearly sparkling with cleanliness. There was a harshness to the empty beds and the drawn curtains that spoke of clinical sterility, not the warm haven that Neville seemed to think of it as.

But that was to an outsider. Neville clearly recognised the ward, because without looking around at the rest of it he padded softly to one end of it and drew back a curtain around the bed. He sat down on the empty bed, and opened a drawer. It was full of bubblegum wrappers, and he reached into his dressing gown pocket and withdrew another one. This he dropped into the drawer carefully, and gave a heavy sigh before curling up on the bed, sadness etched across his chubby face.

"I miss you," he whispered tearfully, hugging the pillow to himself tightly. "I wish I could find a way to make you better." Then he gave a watery smile. "I'm trying," he confided in the pillow. "I'm still looking. See?" He produced a book from another pocket – _Veni, Vidi, Crucio_ by Amara Mallory – and leafed through it. "This is all about the Cruciatus." He put it inside another drawer, alongside several other books – _Cruciatus and its Aftermath, Caring for Cruciatus Patients,_ and _Dark Curses Explored_ amongst them. "I'm getting there," he smiled. "I'm going to find a way to cure you! I can try in here, because nobody can find me and stop me. Gran can't find me in here, she can't tell me off for being stupid. It's just me. And you."

Neville hugged the pillow tightly. It was a poor replacement for his mother, but somehow he knew she'd be able to hear him. The pillow smelt like bubblegum, after all, and he hadn't done anything to make it so. She was his mother, so she would know. Whether she would understand or not was another matter…

Neville put the pillow down gently, and returned to his books with renewed vigour. His teachers would have marvelled at the way he studied each page, making dozens of notes before turning to the next. They'd wish he behaved that way in class; but transfiguring turtles into teapots wouldn't save his parents. Neville glanced at the calender on the wall, a splash of muted colour in the otherwise drab ward.

It was only the start of October now. When he saw his parents at Christmas time, he wanted to be able to give them the best gift he could think of, the best gift in the world. He wanted to be able to give them back their lives.

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_Awwww bless! Poor Neville 3 Don't you just love him? Hope you enjoyed!_


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